


Like (really) hot sand

by Toinette93



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, My First Fanfic, Some Fluff, Some description of injury, The Nazis in the Church Scene (Good Omens), oblivious idiots, whatif consecrated ground really hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toinette93/pseuds/Toinette93
Summary: From the scene in episode 3 where Crowley saves Aziraphale from Nazis in a church, walking on consecrated ground for him. What if the consecrated ground really hurt Crowley. Story set around the church scene. POV alternating. How Crowley ended up saving Aziraphale, what the consequence were, and will Aziraphale realise what is going on. Also when will these idiots realise they love each other ?This is my first fanfic ever, and I am not a native speaker, please be gentle.





	1. Chapter 1

He could not let them to that. He had to somehow stop these goons. Oh, he really did not have much of an idea on how to organize anything secret. That was the other side’s job. Spying, sulking and the like. He briefly thought of Crowley and then pushed away the thought. He was a demon. There was no way there could be two world wars without any demonic intervention, could they? He was kind of angry at the demon, whom he had not seen in a long time. He wondered if the Arrangement was still really on, after that business with the Holy Water. He really could not let him kill himself, could he? And know the demon was probably meddling with war crimes or something. How unlike him, how wrong, he half-heartedly thought, not really able to convince himself of the idea. Deep inside the angel probably knew the humans could orchestrate all that on their own. But he did not want to know. And Aziraphale was very good at pushing away unwanted thoughts. So he did. And came back to the matter at hand. Those nazi spies running around London. He had heard from them from a young woman, who told him she was from the secret services. What was her name again? Ah yes Rose Montgomery. A captain, she had said. Charming lady really. Although probably not quite careful enough. What with telling him about her job so quickly. He had read a few novels and sort of knew you were not supposed to be that open about being a secret agent. What would be the secret in that. Well, it was probably his angelic aura, emanating trust and all he figured. Anyway, she had told them that Nazi agents wanted to buy prophecy books. That they were dangerous, and he should not talk to them. She had also mentioned she really did not know how to catch them. Something about extremely good cover or something. And left her contact details. He sighed. He really disliked those Nazis. He really had enjoyed Germany, and Austria too. Such lovely people with quite a talent for cake, and beer. And know they were murdering innocents. What an inconsiderate bunch. He had not been allowed to interfere with their rise to power, no matter how much he had wanted to. But, well, he could certainly help stop a few Nazi spies from getting their hand on books without attracting to much attention from Upstairs. He looked at the piece of paper left by this charming young woman. She had mentioned how difficult it would be to organize a sting operation. He thought he could probably help, pretend to accept to sell them book and all that. Centuries working the Arrangement with Crowley certainly had given him some talent of dissimulation. And he had to admit he did like acting. He smiled. On the paper, was a phone number. He called, determined to help defeat what seemed to be quite literal forces of evil, even if he would be playing a small role. The captain answered readily and accepted his help. He jumped to the occasion to finally be of some use. The arrangement were quickly made. The meeting was set up in a church. Rose had assured him the building would be surrounded by British agents. He felt it was quite fitting to defeat the forces of evil in a place of worship. He did have a taste for the dramatic.


	2. Chapter 2

Once again the sirens rang. Crowley, who was walking home from the alcohol shop blessed angrily under his breath and followed the crowd in the nearest shelter. The bombs fell. He waited. He really did not like the 1940s, really not at all. There was so much fear and hatred in the air that there was not much left for him to do. And he kept getting stupid commendations from things he had nothing to do with. Things that, in his opinion, really lacked subtlety. And that, although he probably would not admit it, he really found quite disgusting. He had never been a fan of the murdering of children, and a round he had recently done on the Eastern Front had killed the pleasure of vodka for a long time while making him need it even more. Hence his maybe somewhat ill-advised visit to the liquor store. His bottle of whiskey in one hand, he looked at all the people in the shelter. He sensed the fear, and the tension everywhere. He pushed a little bit at two young women who were looking at each other with his mind. Just to make them fall into lust of course. He certainly had nothing to do with love, of all things1. As he was scanning the room for emotions he could work on, he suddenly noticed something that seemed a bit odd. A group of people who seemed like they actually had been planning to be there, and were more annoyed that anything else at the bombing. And who clearly smelled of malicious intent. Not demonic, no. Just perfectly human people scheming. He smirked, wondering if he would be his kind of evil. Careful not to be noticed, he got closer. The group consisted of two middle-aged men and one young woman. They were definitely plotting, their voices too low for any human to hear them, should any have had any interest in their conversation. But Crowley what not human, of course. So he heard everything. It seemed like the young woman was giving a report. Even if he could hear, the conversation was still cryptic, and caught mid-way:

“- He will be at the rendez-vous point tonight. And he will have what our superior needs. He does not suspect a thing, thinks I’m on his side. He was really easy to fool. He even thinks it was his idea to serve as bait.

Said the young woman

\- Well, I am glad you managed to put away all his hesitations. Well done my dear, - added the biggest of the two men.

\- Then we can get rid of this bookish gentleman and get our prize back home. For a gullible man, he does have quite a collection. All those books of prophecy. – added the last one”

This last sentence froze the demon in his tracks. Books. Those stupid Nazis - that much was obvious – were after books. Of prophecy. The description of the “gullible bookish gentleman” fitted a little too well someone he knew. “Aziraphale” he grumbled, “what have you gotten yourself into”. He got his attention back to the group. They apparently had stopped talking. The alert appeared to be over, and people started leaving. Crowley decided to follow the two men who went one way as the woman went another. That way, he thought, he could know what was going on, he could mock the stupidity of the angel. But as this thought crossed his mind, he also felt his chest tighten. He grumbled. He was not worried about the angel, not at all. But still, he followed the two men in the falling sunset, hiding himself from view, finding himself hoping that it was someone else those two men had talked about. Although he doubted anyone but his angel could really has trusted such half-witted goons.

1Those two young women’s hearts however, were not fooled by the demons pretence. They started talking to each other, getting closer in the shelter. They very much fell in love with each other, both survived the war, and many, many years later, as they were in there seventies, finally got married. And they did have a wonderful amount of sex.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In italics : dialogues from the show

Crowley was lurking. He was very good at it. Although, to be honest, being a snake and, as such, cold-blooded, he would not have minded walking into someplace warm. The two idiots had been walking for quite a while, and he was getting a bit cold, maybe even a tiny bit sleepy. Seeing where they went, however, quickly woke him up. They were walking inside a church. Shit, shit shit! He muttered. He really hoped now, that it was not Aziraphale that they were trying to trap. He stayed at the entrance of the church, just outside of the consecrated ground. It was already pretty uncomfortable. He hissed a little bit. But he stayed. He did not really know why. He needed to know. All pretence of mockery having left him he now very clearly worried for his counterpart, hoping he would not show up. If he did, well, too bad for him. At worst, he would be discorporated. Well, that would teach him for being that dumb. There was no way he was going to walk on consecrated ground. The simple proximity of it was unsettling enough as it was. Then, he felt a presence that normally make him fell quite happy. Angelic, innocent and soft, with a hint of stubbornness. Aziraphale. Angel. Right know, it made his stomach sink. A long mix of low cursing and blessing escaped his mouth. He looked. And here came the angel, walking into the church from the front entrance, as he was on the side. His beautiful, annoying angel, his blond curly hair brushed by the light wind, so visible in the dark with his crème clothing, holding a pile of books with a somewhat unsteady hand, the whole demeanour radiating uncertainty and courage. Crowley moved closer to the church entrance, despite all his demonic instincts yelling to move away. He needed to see what was going on. He was still very careful not to touch the building. And see he did. And hear too. The two Nazis asked for the books. Aziraphale played his role as a book-seller ready to sell anything for the right price. As the exchange ended, the two goons started menacing the angel with a pistol.

“ _Such a pity you must be eliminated”_

Crowley got even closer his hands becoming two very tight fists. He noticed the angel did not seem fazed, still trusting his plan.

“ _That’s not very sporting”_

The young woman Crowley had seen in the shelter entered the church, pointing a gun at the Nazis. Aziraphale looked exceedingly proud of himself. Crowley laughed at Aziraphale’s absurd use of American slang. The demon then saw the expected treason play out before his eyes.

“ _Rose, where exactly are your people?”_

He saw the built-up confidence of the angel in front of the guns disappear and the hurt in his counterpart’s – in his friend’s – eyes as the young woman ended up not being what she had said she had been. “Idiot. He muttered. How could you ever trust them. For one second! They don’t have half a brain, the three of them”. He had to agree with the fake british captain and real German spy that Aziraphale was “sehr leicht glaubig” indeed. He got his attention back to the scene as the three Nazis pointed their gins back at the gullible angel.

“ _Now, where were we. Oh yes, killing you.”_

He heard the angel’s slightly panicked response _“You_ _can’t kill me. There’ll be paperwork!”_

His heart sank. Yes of course, he would only be discorporated. But it would certainly hurt. He knew it would. And although he probably still should have, he really did not want his angel – when had he started to think of him like that! - to be in pain. Pain was for the like of him, for demons. He was used to pain, he could deal with it. This soft angel, though, what would it do to him? Besides, he was not sure he wanted to see more bullet-ridden corpses right now. He had had his fill in the plains of Poland and Ukraine. He could still remember this little boy, maybe 6 or 7 years old, still round with little curls and open eyes, whose death he had gotten so drunk over, maybe, he now thought, because he had looked a little bit like Aziraphale. He noticed he had been looking at his feet. More precisely at the thinness of the soles of his fashionable boots. It would not be much protection. Oh well. Putting his sunglasses and hat on to hide his face, he walked into the church. Or more accurately, jumped around into it, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Oh G- Satan, -Somebody, it burnt.

“ _Sorry, consecrated groud._ He explained “ _Oh it’s like being at the beach on bare feet”_

Well, a beach with really hot sand then. Probably with some lava on top of it really. His shoes were not much protection. While they probably would not burn but his feet sure did. He quickly started feeling something wet in them. Hum. Blood he thought. He would have to do whatever he was going to do quickly.

“ _What are you doing here?”  
_

The angel's angry tone was noticeable.

“ _Stopping you from getting into trouble.”_

His breath was getting quicker he noticed.

“ _I should have known, of course. These people are working for you.”_

After six thousand years, that was still the angel’s first reaction thought Crowley. Well, that hurt. Not as much as the ground, but still. He leaned on a bench and instantly regretted it.

“ _No, they’re a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies running around London blackmailing and murdering people, I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.”_

Or ridden with bullets. Mostly ridden with bullets.

“ _Anthony J. Crowley, your fame precedes you!”_

He had not expected that. Oh well, maybe those idiots were not as stupid as he thought they were. Had noticed all his running around, trafficking and playing with sins. It had mostly been lust lately. He had gotten a lot of nurses to shag a lot of their patients. His line of thought was interrupted when Aziraphale asked about his new first-name and middle-name, well letter. He was touched by the intention, just a little bit. It was quite a pleasant conversation, really, if you forgot the burning sensation climbing up his leg, and he was quite annoyed when it was interrupted by death threats. He had to think of something. Well, for starters, he was not armed. And could hardly do a demonic miracle too visibly aimed at saving an angel. His lot did not send angry notes. He had to think of something. He noticed the quietness in the air. No planes close overhead. Oh! Yeah, the Blitz. He smiled. He had his idea. Hoped the angel would follow through. And well, if he could destroy a church in the process, he did not mind. Would probably get him a commendation from below. He started working on a bomber’s trajectory. He noticed the holy water, commented on it. He would not have an occasion to steal it though. Pity, really. The death treat were repeated, more immediate this time.

“ _Enough babbling, kill them both”_

He had to explain his plan to the angel. So he did.

“ _In about a minute, a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here. In you all run away very, very fast, you might not die. You won’t enjoy dying, definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.”_

The Nazis, of course did not believe him. He was quite satisfied of that too. He was surprisingly not that much into killing, for a demon, but those humans were threatening Aziraphale and he sure as hell wanted them dead.

“ _The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.”_

“ _Yes. It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes.”_

He was choosing his words carefully. He kept on going

“ _And if, in 30 seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.”_

He managed to make his wink noticeable under his sunglasses.

“ _A real miracle?”_ said Aziraphale. “Come on, Angel, thought the demon, warp your head around this one, you are smart”

As the bomb fell, he really hoped Aziraphale had understood his suggestion. He sensed the holy energy build up in his counterpart. Well, apparently he had. As the bomb was about to hit, he noticed the book were not under protection. That made him smile. Oblivious Aziraphale. Without as much as half a thought, he protected them. Well, he could always say that prophecy books were a way to catch souls. Although, prophecy book in the hands of angel probably were not. Oh well, he just hoped no one would catch up to him. As the church was destroyed the soil stopped burning him. Not a moment too soon.

“ _That was very kind of you.”_ Said Aziaphale

“ _Shut up”_ Answered the demon, putting his glasses back up, but failing to completely hide his smile. He had to admit he was relieved and a little happy.

“ _Well it was. No paperwork, for a start..._ _Oh the books!_ _Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh they’ll all be blown to..._ _”_

Finding the fact that the angel was more despaired by the loss of inaccurate prophecy books that by that of a church, the demon walked on the rubble, getting the bag of books he had protected out of the dead Nazi’s hand and bringing it back to the angel.

“ _Little demonic miracle of my own.”_ He smiled. Well he would have said he smirked mockingly at the lack of attention of the angel but there is only so much self deception even an imaginative demon can achieve. _“Lift home?”_ he added. The angel, although quite flabbergasted, nodded in agreement, but did not move right away.

Crowley was quite happy he did not. With the adrenaline going out of his system, the pain was getting hard to deal with. His feet, he could barely feel anymore. But the little he felt was painful. Not exactly a good sign. But it was better than the rest of his legs felt. Apparently the burns had gone up quite a bit. His hand and side hurt from him stupidly leaning on the pillar. And he felt a metallic taste in his mouth from the incense charged air he had had been breathing in: he did need air to talk, if not to live per se. And besides, he had gotten so used to it over the millennia, it had become quite the reflex. He managed to concentrate enough to keep on walking, and even to keep his usual cool swagger. But, Satan, was he glad to have his sunglasses and hat hiding most of his face. He sat down in the Bentley. He tentatively tried to heal himself. Well. No luck. He guessed it was to be expected, holy stuff and all. This would have to heal the slow way. At least he had not touched holy water, so it probably would not kill him. The demon got in the car, and a little bit later, the angel joined him. Crowley gave him his most beautiful smirk and was quite happy with the result. He could not let the angel know he was in any pain. Do not let the enemy see your weakness1. Crowley put up an illusion to hide the blood that was dripping on the steering wheel from his scorched right hand and proceeded to drive without his feet, ferociously willing the Bentley to move without any real use of its motor. And promising it he would clean the stains. The drive was a quick one. And they did not talk. Crowley was too busy trying not to show pain and miracle-driving. And Aziraphale was still in a bit of a shock, processing what had just happened, looking with relief at the saved books, and noticing that the demon was making quite a habit of rescuing him. As they arrived to the shop, Aziraphale opened the door:

“Do you want something to drink? - he said – I still have some good French wine from before the war.”

“Nah! Got to dash, some tempting to do. I will be quite busy in the following weeks, see you sometime, angel.”

Aziraphale looked disappointed, but left and went into the shop nonetheless. Crowley could not avoid a sigh of relief. He could stop with the illusions that took up quite an amount of his energy, and get himself home. He forced his car to obey, and although he did not quite know how, as he was beginning to get a little bit light headed, he did manage to get himself to his flat. There he stumbled on the bed. He needed rest he thought. And then he fell asleep, or unconscious, he was in no state to know the difference.

1At this point, even he sort of knew this was getting ridiculous.


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale was in fact a bit disappointed, he had hoped to be able to thank the demon with a really nice bottle of wine for the saving, and to gently mock him for making a habit of it. He was however, also happy to have the time to look at his book. He made himself some tea, and started to tidy up his bookshelves, putting the saved tomes where they belonged. He smiled at the act of absolute kindness he had just witnessed from a demon. If saving him from discorporating could still count – with a long stretch – as avoiding himself the risk of getting a less agreeable replacement, saving his books clearly could not. And Crowley had walked in a church for him. He smiled. Walked on holy ground to save him, from what was, he had to admit, his own stupidity. Then he stopped smiling. And started thinking. Wait a minute. Holy ground. That could not be good for a demon could it? Oh boy. He took his head in his right hand. And notice on his sleeve a spot that had not been there before. He was going to miracle it away when he noticed the colour. Bright red. Blood. And apparently not his own. Of course he could be one of the Nazi’s but… He had to know. So he smelled. And yeah, sure enough, he did not quite smell like human blood. Oh. He thought. Crowley’s then. The demon had been quite silent in the car, he suddenly recalled. He was probably hurt. Could Crowley heal that type of wound, the angel wondered. He had not idea. Shit, shit, shit, he rarely caught himself swearing, but right know, it seemed like the right to do. He only hesitated a few seconds. Crowley would probably be mad at him for showing up uninvited but if he was really injured, well. He knew he had Crowley’s address somewhere. The demon had given it to him once, although he had never been there in person. He fretted in the shop, found his address book with the little card the demon had given him. Mayfair it was. He could not find a taxi or anything of the sort, and well it could be urgent. So Aziraphale got his wings out as soon as he got out of the shop and took to the skies. He was careful not to be seen, but it was not hard, as not many people were in the street at that time. From up there the sight of London under the Blitz was pretty distressing, but for once, the angel paid it no mind. No bombers flied over. The nazi spies’s plan helped him in this occasion. He was at his friend’s building quite quickly, and very out of breath. He had not flown that fast in ages, if he ever had, really. The Bentley was parked in front of the door. At least Crowley had gotten home, he thought. He got up the stairs and knocked at the door.

“Crowley! Are you all right in there?”

His voice cracked, just a little bit. He noticed he had forgotten to hide his wings again. So he did. There was no answer. He tried again, a sense of panic building up in his voice.

“Crowley, please, open the door!”

Still no answer. The stairway was dark. “Let there be light” murmured the angel. And there was. And on the floor, a little trail of blood, the demon apparently had not miracled away. Aziraphale’s chest felt very tight all of a sudden. He made the stains disappeared, and opened the door. He could feel some anti-angelic protection, but also the fact that he was meant as an exception to them. He smiled, as he had done the same thing in his bookshop. Well, the opposite thing really, anti-demonic protection. He got light in the entrance as well. The trail of blood lead onwards. Aziraphale followed.

“Crowley please, dear, you are scaring me right now!”

He ran through the flat, not paying attention to anything. He finally got to a door that was slightly ajar, pushed it and was in a bedroom. There, on the bed, lay a very familiar and very, very still demon. Aziraphale run up to him

“Crowley!”

For a terrifying moment he thought he was dead, then remembered he would probably only be discoporated which was a little bit less scary, then finally felt the demon’s presence. It was weak but it was there. Aziraphale gently touched the demon, getting no response. He wondered what to do. Well, he first had to look at the damage. The demon was lying on his stomach. The back did not seem to be particularly hurt. Aziraphale carefully turned the demon around. This elicited a small growl. He could not see with all the clothing nor in the dark. He got some light and miracled away most of the demon’s clothing. The demon really was skinny he thought. Should eat more. But this clearly was the last of his worries. Aziraphale first saw the burned hands. It looked painful but not life-threatening. Same of the long burn on the demon’s left side. And there was some blood on the demon’s face, but not a whole lot. He almost started to relax, and then he saw the feet. Yes, of course, they had been in contact with the ground the most. They looked almost burnt through, charred, all black. And visibly the demon had not been able to heal himself. Well, thought Aziraphale, he probably should try, then, shouldn’t he? He wondered if his powers might not do more harm than good. If they would even work1. He thought he would try on a light wound first. He had never been the best of healers. Oh, he could heal humans all right, when he was allowed to that is, but he had not had any practice on the angel-stock and it was quite a harder work. As of healing a demon, well, he did not know if it had ever been attempted before.

Aziraphale slowly opened up his aura, and reached with his hand to the wounded side of his friend. He encountered resistance. The unconscious demon was automatically fighting back his healing power, as they came from an angelic presence, an enemy. It was instinct. As he was in no state to fight, however, he did not resist long, and the wound started healing. But it took longer than it should have, and took quite a lot of energy from the angel. Oh, Aziraphale thought. This was going to be harder than expected. He moved back. He was not sure he could heal everything in one go. Not after having flown that long, and having already used up quite the miracle to protect the two of them from the falling bomb. He would have to think through the priorities. He tentatively scanned the demon’s state. Alright. The feet, and some internal damage, to the lungs. Should probably take care of that first. The demon did have a bit of a rasping breath. The burns of the hands were not as severe. They could wait. Even if he was blocking it out with all his strength, he could feel the pain the demon was in. He had to make it stop. So he went to work. He started by healing the internal wounds to the lung. The breathing became quieter. Now he had to take care of the charred feet. So far, his healing had not seem to cause the demon any extra pain but he doubted this would be the case with the feet. They were so destroyed he would actually have to rebuild the muscles and nerves more or less from scratch. That was not going to be fun. “Like walking on hot sand” he grumbled, “stupid demon”. After taking a short break, the angel got to work again. As soon as he started to work on the feet the demon started screaming, at the top of his barely healed lungs. Aziraphale kept on working. The screaming got worse, and the demon was fighting him. Two black wings darted out, trying to attack the angel. He had to get his own out to pin his friend on the bed. The work was draining Aziraphale terribly he was not really sure what he was doing anymore, and almost accidentally also healed the two hands. The demon’s screaming had stopped at some point, and he had gone limp. When he was done, the angel still managed to get his healing powers out of the demon, but he did not have any energy left to even hide his wing. He collapsed on his friend, holding him in his arms, wings entangled in a mess of feathers. The demon had not had enough strength in him to really hurt the angel but a few feathers were askew nonetheless. They stayed like that for quite a while.

1He did not think of the danger to himself either from opening his soul to a demon in the process of healing on from Gabriel discovering what he had done afterwards. That did not even cross his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

The pain in his feet had been terrifyingly intense. He did not know his body could feel that and survive. And it was inflicted on him. He was going to get killed, not just discorporated, killed. He kicked, and trashed, but he was pinned. Then he felt a warmth, and stopped feeling much after that. He was out cold. When he slowly came to he still remembered the pain. But he also noticed it had disappeared. He felt fine, warm, soft, a bit numb. There was something quite heavy on his chest, and also quite warm. It was producing a sound, not unlike a snore. He still felt kind of weak. The memories started to surface again. Oh, yeah, the consecrated ground. He moved his toes and was surprised to notice that there was no pain at all, but that he could feel them. Everything was apparently back to normal. He remembered he had not been able to heal himself, that was odd. He noticed that his wings were out and tucked them back in. Somebody must have healed him. He opened his eye, slowly. He smiled. Oh, the warm weight on his chest had been the angel. Aziraphale was literally sprawled on him, holding him quite tightly. Not quite awake yet, Crowley did not question the presence, just enjoyed it. He marvelled at the softness of the skin. He rarely had touched him, and certainly not that closely. He noticed he was almost naked. Oh, well. He extricated himself slowly from the angel’s embrace, slithering out really – having been a snake had its advantages after all! He got up, still a bit light-headed, and surprised to be able to walk on his feet. He looked at the angel whose clothes were slimy with demon blood. He put two and two together. Oh. The angel had healed him. Exhausted himself doing it, too. He felt a pang of guilt, remembering how he had thrashed and fought the healing process, taking it for an attack. With a bit of worry, he miracled the angel into clean pyjamas, and checked for any damage. Thank somebody there were none. He just look tired, and slept, very peacefully. Crowley snapped his finger and the sheets were clean. He tucked the angel in, careful not to wake him, and resisted the urge to caress the angel’s hair. He got himself dressed. When he got back, the angel’s wing had disappeared. Well, that was a good sign. He would probably wake up soon. Crowley went to make some tea in the kitchen, for when the angel would emerge. He would magically keep the tea a the right temperature. When he came back with his tea he looked for the angel asleep for a little while, smiling. He was quite happy the body he was looking at was not ridden with bullets. As he was entertaining these thoughts, Aziraphale started to come to.


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as he noticed his friend was regaining consciousness, Crowley, remembering suddenly the nature of their arrangement, put his sunglasses back on and pretended to look very annoyed. He was mostly embarrassed really. Relieved and happy, too. That was probably a good idea, at least as far as the glasses were concerned because the look on Aziraphale face as he woke up may or may not have gotten his eyes to sparkle a little under there. But as he was wearing said sunglasses, we will, of course, never know.

As he opened his eyes, Aziraphale saw Crowley looking at him and getting up a bit too fast he yelled, beaming

“Crowley! You’re alive. I did it! How are you doing my dear? What are you doing out of bed”

And then after a moment of perplexed reflection:

“And what am I doing in _your_ bed. In pyjamas?”

Crowley laughed

“One question at a time. I am quite alright, angel. You healed me. Seems to have taken quite a lot out of you.”

He avoided the second question entirely, and gave Aziraphale the cup of tea he had made, his hands ready to steady the angel should he have trouble sitting up. But the angel seemed to be doing all right.

Aziraphale was trying very hard to process everything that had happened. He was relieved that Crowley was alive and still dealing with the intense fear he had felt, when he had thought Crowley was dead, or would die. He really did not know what to do about it. So he did what he knew how to do best. He grabbed the cup of tea, smiled and said “Thank you, Crowley”, hoping that the demon would understand he was not just thanking him for the tea. The vague grumbled response from Crowley, who said something around the line of the angel being unable to make tea without messing his kitchen made him think he probably had. The demon, who was working very hard on his mildly annoyed look grumbled:

“Here, some clothes. I'll get you back home when you feel up to it.” and proceeded to make a few white and tartan clothes appear on the chair next to the bed before leaving the room.

Aziraphale was quite tired. He however proceeded to get dressed, the human way, not having any energy left to miracle anything at the moment, and vaguely worried that heaven of hell would catch up on what he had done, and that they would be in trouble. He really had to go home.

The ride home what short and a bit tense. None of the two supernatural being could look at each other in the eye, each processing what the other had been willing to do for them, to risk for them. In the streets, some buildings were still smouldering from the fires that had consumed them in the previous nights of the Blitz. When they arrived, Aziraphale nodded quickly to Crowley while exiting the Bentley. The demon made a vague gesture with his hand, which hesitated between a move to chase him off and a squeeze on the shoulder and ended up being none of those things. Crowley watched as the angel closed the door of his bookshop behind him. When he was quite sure he could not be heard he said “Thanks, Aziraphale”, and then barely a whisper at that point “I love you”. He stopped in his tracks, realizing what he had just said, well admitted, to himself. He shook his head, smiled a sad smile and was off. They did not see each other for quite a while after that.


End file.
